


Stab an emperor twenty-three times

by sycamoretree



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis/Porthos - Freeform, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Insults, M/M, Open Relationships, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompt at the BBC The Musketeers kink meme: Porthos has to break Aramis' heart to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stab an emperor twenty-three times

Having grown up in the Court of Miracles had taught Porthos to act.

To act before an audience and receive laughter and thrown coins, to pretend to be a crippled beggar at a tender age to get food, and to play the part of an innocent when the King’s men came raiding through the untamed part of Paris, which saved him from being arrested.

But Porthos never would have imagined after having found salvation in the ranks of the proud musketeers, that he would one day use his skill to purposely drive Aramis away from him.

He had only to shake off Aramis from his tail before heading alone to the leader of a conspiracy in the half forgotten tunnels beneath the streets of Paris.

Treville had been firm in his order; Porthos was to go alone, extract evidence, and return to report his discovery. He alone was the best musketeer at fooling others; card games had showed that many times before, and Treville believed in his ability to work alone; considering his strength, wit, and experience from similar meetings with thugs in his childhood.

The man leading the conspiracy was not kind to intruders and the less musketeers in his abode, the better, Treville had reasoned when he nervously squeezed Porthos' shoulder. Porthos understood the crude but accurate fact: one musketeer meant only a small risk in such a sensitive mission on which the very kingdom depended.

And so, Athos had been left that ominent evening in the tavern with a heavy bottle of wine that Porthos had bought.

D’Artagnan had been scared off with a hostile growl that he better tend to his horse in the stables of the garrison, lest Treville had all four of them whipped for neglecting their mounts.

But sweet, impossible Aramis followed Porthos into the night, ignoring his lover’s unusually dismissive nature and the orders Porthos voiced over his shoulder that Aramis should go home. Thus, Porthos was forced to put on the actor’s cloak once more and forget who he was performing for when he rounded on Aramis and brusquely pushed him into an abandoned alley.

After a long and yet short time of queries from Aramis and insisting grunts from Porthos that he needed to be alone, Porthos had to use more forceful ammunition. He began to insult Aramis, intent of harming him so much that he no longer would seek Porthos’ company that night and stumble across a malevolent criminal.

***

“You preach and pray like a man of the clergy even when you spend more time on your back than on your knees in a church,” Porthos hissed with slits for eyes.

Aramis flinched and staggered backwards as if he’d been struck. “You… you never complained before about my…” he begun haltingly and Porthos mustered a mocking grin that made his mouth ache.

“Why, it’s the truth, isn’t it? All the less reputable habitants in Paris know that the busiest whore in the city is a man…who works for free.”

Aramis visibly paled and his hands hung limply at his sides, not touching the sword nor the dagger at his waist. Porthos’ aggressive words had rendered him disarmed where physical weapons were concerned. At any other time, when Porthos teased just a little too much, Aramis would challenge him for a chance to defend his own honour. Not this time though, in a dark alley when Porthos carried no hint of not meaning what he said.

“If…” Aramis’ voice caught and Porthos tensed his jaw from the desolate look in his lover’s eyes when Aramis found courage to continue. “If you request loyalty of me, I shall grant you it immediately. I never thought you opposed our lack of restrictions. You should have told me earlier.”

Aramis gave him a fleeting shadow of a smile that didn’t reach his averted eyes. To watch Aramis willingly, desperately giving up his freedom, spirit, and passion to bind his life to a man who harmed him this moment; that was something that broke Porthos’ heart. Aramis would forsake himself, his inner being to be with Porthos. What did people say; that the person who love you will always forgive you?

Porthos willed himself to not give in and slump his shoulders and abandon his charade in favour of Aramis’ feelings.

Instead he sneered, “Now you crawl like a maggot in the ground. You’re pathetic, low, and shameful. You shame the uniform you wear. You disgust me, Aramis.”

Aramis’ throat convulsed when he swallowed, and his eyes began to gleam with unshed tears under the observing moon.

“Why do you say these things? Are you drunk? Did anyone tease you? I want to understand.”

Aramis reached for his face but Porthos wrenched his head away from the approaching, tender hands.

He growled, “Do you think I do this on a whim? Do you smell foul beverage on my breath? Or have you fucked away the remaining intellect you own? You cannot satisfy me anymore. What I desire is a pure soul; not a damaged prostitute that embarrass the whole regiment.”

“I… I love you.”

Porthos brought his gloved hand to his face in torture when Aramis’ broken words reached across the narrow alley, but he quickly concealed the brief slip by beginning to laugh hideously behind the stifling leather. He could see from under the lashes of his crinkled eyes how Aramis eyes widened and how his jaw slackened in shock. Porthos chuckled, but it sounded strangled to his ears.

“Is that the newest trick you’re trying with me? As if a few words dripping from your lying tongue will trap me again between those thighs you oh so readily spread for anyone seeking entrance to your used body.”

“Then go, if my presence is so repulsing,” the slender man murmured, before sliding his hat off his head and holding it with both restless hands like a shield protecting him from Porthos. Porthos scoffed and brushed passed Aramis.

“Finally the Spanish harlot gets it, and not in the carnal way.”

That earned him a firm grip on his arm and Porthos whirled around just in time to note the movement when Aramis swung his arm and slapped him. Porthos released a gasp and gingerly pressed his glove to the searing part of his cheek and Aramis bared his teeth like a cornered dog leaning on defense after abuse.

“I do not care to see you any longer,” Aramis stated stiffly and before Porthos could do anything, Aramis climbed a barrel, jumped for the edge of the roof above, and heaved himself up with the strength and ease of an agile cat, before he disappeared from view.

Porthos considered it a relief to not have to endure his lover walking past him to reach the main street. Although, he wished that Aramis wouldn’t do anything dangerous to himself after Porthos’ horrible degradation.

“I’m protecting you, my love,” Porthos whispered with his eyes not trained on the cold light of the moon, but on the roof.

Then he shook his cloak over his broad shoulders to chase away the chill in his core and the dread from his mind. He needed to be focused and not think back on Aramis’ child-like confusion and agonized expressions. He was about to enter a wolf’s lair, and he would do that alone.

***

There was a strained time at the garrison before the successful mission was revealed by Treville a week after and Porthos was celebrated with a round of applause in the yard, even when he felt awful and kept his eyes fastened on his muddy boots.

He didn’t dare glancing at his friends beside him, at those he had deceived, and one of them with accompanying insults and slander. There was no glory to be found in betraying those who loved him, even for a good cause.

After Treville had dismissed the musketeers, the men returned to their duties and Porthos tensed when he noticed how D’Artagnan was stalking towards him with frustration written on his youthful face.

Luckily, the elder soldier was spared from the confrontation when Athos intervened and tugged the boy aside, muttering something inaudible to him. Athos shared one look with Porthos and the noble musketeer nodded to the right before leading D’Artagnan away.

Porthos followed his friend’s hint and noticed the heels of Aramis’ boots when he disappeared inside the stable. Porthos drew a deep breath and began walking after his perhaps lost lover. He had yet to make peace with Aramis properly, and Athos knew that as well, but gave him opportunity to do so without the company of others.

As much as Porthos dreaded this, he had to explain further to Aramis, to make him see that Porthos had had no choice but to drive him away in order to save him. While he may have given Athos a terrible hangover, and subjected D’Artagnan to extra chores, he had hurt none of them as bad as he had Aramis.

Porthos found Aramis in the back of the building, with a brush in his bare hand and soothing words in Spanish spilling over his calm and comfortable steed.

Porthos lifted a fist to his mouth and coughed in a not very subtle way. Alarm passed over Aramis’ face before a guarded look descended and he put down the brush in the tool box. With a last pat on the steed’s head, Aramis stepped into the passage in the middle of the stable and stood straight, regarding Porthos who gave him a glance of disapproval at the deliberate distance between them. Porthos was compelled to take a few steps closer and he removed his gloves to display some sort of normality despite the awkwardness between them.

“Did you really believe the words I said?” he inquired at last and stared intensely at Aramis.

The other man licked his lips and shrugged. “Maybe in my heart I doubt myself sometimes. How could I earn your affection, or God’s for that matter, with the way I live my wretched life?”

Porthos gaped at the absence of confidence in Aramis, and he threw his arms out in amaze.

“You’re Aramis! You certainly don’t need _me_ to define you.”

But he wasn’t treated to a familiar smile. Aramis kept his hold on the cool and distant mask he’d worn in public ever since that unfortunate night one week ago. But the man did tilt his head so the feather in his hat wilted.

Aramis asked, “How easy did those slurs leave your mouth? Are you hiding contempt or discontentment from me? Am I nothing more than a bed warmer and a convenient body when lust grabs you?”

Vulnerable, clear eyes studied Porthos who fought the urge to look away in guilt, because in this moment he sensed that Aramis needed him to look back and affirm their bond. But when an actor’s lines had tricked Aramis before, Porthos doubted mere words would make the hurt go away. Instead, he let his body speak for him.

He tentatively rocked his arm like a swing and just when he was at the furthest, he grasped Aramis’ hand during the brief momentum and Aramis didn’t withdrew.

Utterly careful, Porthos kept his eyes on the nervous, sad man as he bowed before him and softly pressed a kiss on the smooth back of his hand.

Porthos promised into the skin that smelled of only familiar things, “I'm aware that you have more love contained in your heart than many men; love which you share generously. I accept that and would never want you to stop spreading joy in this city. You’re a lord to me and your sway over pleasure and entertainment soothes my tragic memories from a life I once suffered through. Swear to me that you never tame yourself for the sake of another’s opinion.

“How can you demand of me to swear to anything when you’re the one man I trusted to never harm me?” Aramis retorted with acid that left Porthos wincing. Still, Aramis’ hand stayed in his light grip.

“You’re right; I have no right to request such a thing from you. Your faith in me, and in God, is yours to rule over, but know that in my heart, I have never stopped loving you for who you are. Aramis, love, I cannot vow to never repeat this, because if Treville needs me to put on an act, I must follow the orders. But you’re the man I’ve chosen, even when I spew foul words to keep you at a distance from danger.”

Silently, he added, “As I’m sure you would do if you faced the same situation.”

“You still deserved the slap,” Aramis insisted.

Porthos nodded solemnly, not finding the humour in that particular incident. “I did,” he agreed.

In an instant, the wary look in Aramis’ expressive eyes was replaced by warmth amongst the brown. The man stepped closer and their fingers tangled, both ignoring the dust from the horse that was smeared over Porthos’ previously clean palm.

“I will stab you with a needle the next time you get yourself injured, just so you know,” Aramis remarked with dignity even as a smile made itself known on his face.

Porthos grimaced at his fate, because for a musketeer it never was a question of if, but _when_ he would experience another injury.

“Thanks for the fair warning,” he rumbled and Aramis winked at him before Porthos leaned down and kissed Aramis so very tenderly, constantly asking forgiveness with his lips when his voice failed him. And the mighty, graceful Aramis granted him mercy.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was as heartbreaking and gut-wrenching as the I intended. The title is inspired by the assassination of Caesar; another unexpected betrayal. Feel free to comment.


End file.
